


A Jump to the Left

by KINGBeerZ



Series: Of Warped Time [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Male My Unit | Byleth, One Shot Collection, Time Travel, all the emotions!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22224370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KINGBeerZ/pseuds/KINGBeerZ
Summary: Much and more can happen in a millennium, and Byleth still has a long road to return home.  A series of one shots taking place during the timeskip in 'A Step to the Right'.
Relationships: Flayn & My Unit | Byleth, Indech & My Unit | Byleth, Macuil & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Rhea, My Unit | Byleth & Seteth
Series: Of Warped Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599730
Comments: 22
Kudos: 97





	1. The Ball

**Author's Note:**

> oh hi people, looks like I'm back. I believe I did promise this, so I'm here to deliver. I hope people enjoy this first chapter. This work won't have a constant update schedule since it's more of an informal series of one shots looking at things I would have liked to cover in my previous story but didn't have time for.

Byleth stood at the back of the crowded ballroom. Half of the Imperial palace had been overtaken with the celebration for Nemesis’ defeat. Byleth doubted he’d even been garbed more finely than for this occasion. His pristine jacket was a deep blue, traced with delicate patterns in gold silk reminiscent of what he’d seen Seteth and Flayn wear before. It felt stifling in the pressing heat, and it chafed the ring of ugly bruises he could feel still under its high collar. He felt he could barely walk in the fine ivory breeches and high black boots the others had foisted on him, and the thought of even attempting to join the dancers struck a chord of horror deep in his gut. 

He hadn’t danced since the night of the ball, before everything had gone wrong. Claude had started it, but one after another he found each of his students throwing him around the dance floor (literally in Raphael’s case) and they’d mostly been appalled by his poor form. Although, only Lorenz had the courage to say it. 

Sothis had laughed at him the whole time. If she was here she’d probably be nagging him to go out and make a fool of himself again.

He swirled the glass of champagne in his hand a little as he thought fondly on his students. His hand twitched, reaching for the Sword of the Creator, perhaps just another few tries, last night he had felt _so close_. It was a futile action right now he reflected. Seiros had the sword locked away for the time being since Macuil demanded he ‘take a break from trying to kill himself’ so that he wouldn’t collapse at a celebration for their victory. 

He could pick out Macuil easily from where he was; the man tended to command a room. There was a throng of people huddled around him, hounding him with questions, Byleth could see him scoff at them, but he didn’t miss the way the Saint preened subtly at their attentions. 

Cethleann was busy laughing, dancing and partaking in every fine seafood dish that was served. He could always find her by listening for the sound of Cichol’s admonishings and warnings. 

Seiros and Indech had disappeared shortly after their arrival at the gala; the former likely on important business, and the latter simply fading into the background more efficiently than Byleth could ever hope to emulate. At least Cethleann and Macuil were drawing attention away from people wanting to speak to him. He’d have to thank them later.

“Are you not enjoying the festivities?” Byleth started at the sudden voice at his side. He turned to see who’d spoken.

It was someone unfamiliar, yet Byleth couldn’t help but feel he’d met them somewhere before. He was an old man, yet he stood unbent against his silvering hair and the weight of his years. His garb was a fine, vibrant crimson, it might look gaudy on most, but this stranger wore it naturally as a second skin. He stood with his hands clasped politely behind his back as he regarded Byleth with an openly curious expression in his deep purple eyes.

“I guess I’m just not much one for parties.” Byleth muttered to his drink. He thought back to the night of the ball again and a small ripple spread through the glass he clutched.

“Ah, I see. Saint Indech is much the same way, is he not?” The newcomer said, he then turned his head to look out over the assembled masses once more. “I suppose you can’t be faulted, many are not in the mood for celebration after all that has happened. Yet it is at these times that such frivolities are most necessary.”

Byleth snorted lightly, a celebration could hardly change a war. A sharp pain stabbed through his bruises suddenly and he winced. It couldn’t change the wounds either.

“Oh you’re injured.” The man commented, wincing himself. “I could provide some balms that may help, it’s the least I can do for the man who helped bring down Nemesis.”

“I didn’t-“ Byleth started, but the man held up a hand to forestall his denial.

“You fought against Nemesis and lived, few can boast of that. By the word of Saint Seiros, you also managed to wound the man himself. Fewer still can claim that much.” His words were steady and certain. The speech delivered was in such a way that everything he spoke sounded of truth and certainty. It was hard not to fall into believing him. “You should have some pride in what you achieved, Your Holiness.”

Irritation flickered in Byleth at the title and some of it must shown on his face as his companion stared at him.

“Do you not care for your title?” He asked.

“I’m not a Saint.” Byleth muttered hoarsely. He was once called the Ashen Demon for the way he fought, he could hardly lay claim to a holy title. 

“A title can be a heavy thing to bear.” The man said softly, gazing out over the celebrations. “If you’re not a Saint, then tell me, what are you?” 

“A teacher.” Byleth blinked at the instinctual answer. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out.

“Oh, a teacher. Marvellous.” The man sounded genuinely pleased with the knowledge, Byleth even noticed the distinct upturn of his lips. “Enriching youth is always a rewarding experience.”

“Yeah.” Byleth agreed. He made the mistake of taking a sip of his drink, and the liquid scorched his sore throat going down. He rubbed it absentmindedly, hoping the pain would go away soon. The healers had said it’d like take another few weeks to fully heal though.

“A teacher, yet you got involved in a war… Do you know where your students are now?” 

“No.” Byleth said sadly. His hand twitched for the sword again. 

His companion fell silent and looked out over the assembled dancers beside him. The whirl of gowns and flash of jewellery still made Byleth feel disconnected. He was a mercenary and a teacher, not some socialite dancing the night away. Sothis would probably rant at him if she could hear what he was thinking. She’d say he was wasting the night away when he had a perfectly functioning body with which to enjoy it.

The thought lightened his heart a little and almost made him chuckle. His good mood died when he saw an attendant rushing his way garbed in imperial colours. It was likely some message from Seiros.

The messenger stopped before him, but to Byleth’s surprise instead turned to his companion.

“Your Majesty, it is almost time for your address. We need you at the reception stage.” He said hurriedly.

Byleth looked over to his companion again and the familiarity clicked into place. It wasn’t an exact resemblance but he could see the man’s similarities to Edelgard in the shape of his forehead and the line of his jaw. He’d been speaking to the Adrestian Emperor.

“Your Majesty?” He questioned the man.

“A breach in manners I suppose, forgive me… Professor.” Byleth started at the familiar address and there was a slight sparkle in the Emperor’s eye. “I am Emperor Lycaon of house Hresvelg. I am sorry if my deception upset you, but I wished to speak candidly.”

“I’m more surprised than upset.” Byleth admitted.

“Your Majesty, you are needed.” The attendant interjected once again.

“I am coming, apologies, but I must cut our time short. I would like to speak again in future. It is an honour to know any of Seiros’ people.” He said before giving a short bow and leaving to follow the attendant. Byleth was left staring at the retreating crimson back.

A sharp cough at Byleth’s side drew his attention and he looked to see Cichol standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest and a slight tension across his features. 

“Ah, you are alright. Cethleann asked me to keep an eye out for you as it were. Although, I’d believe she herself is more in need of watching.” His gaze flicked to something over Byleth’s shoulder and narrowed dangerously.

Byleth turned to look at what was upsetting Cichol. Cethleann stood amidst a gathering of a few young nobles. one man whispered something to her causing her to laugh uproariously. He remembered Flayn complaining about Seteth’s overprotective tendencies frequently to him.

“It seems that my concerns were more well founded than hers.” Cichol hissed. He began to stalk towards Cethleann until Byleth held an arm out to stop him.

“She’ll be okay.” He said calmly and Cichol’s eyes widened comically at his declaration.

“But- but you cannot be sure of that Byleth!” he snapped. “We know nothing of their intentions. They could be trying to use her for her position or worse!” He tried to sidle around Byleth but he remained stubbornly in Cichol’s path.

“Just for tonight Cichol, F- Cethleann will be fine for tonight.” 

“I, I suppose I may be a little overeager.” Cichol admitted with a heavy sigh. “She has been through much these past years. Perhaps you are correct, for tonight it may be best to allow her to act the child.” His eyes were misty and far away as he spoke.

“Yeah, she deserves it.” Byleth agreed, taken back to the ball in his own time once again.

“Of course, if I see those young men seeking her out in future, I may have some choice words to share.” Cichol said quietly.

Byleth chose to ignore that.

Cethleann and her friends ran off towards the podium at the end of the ballroom and Byleth noticed the Emperor taking a place front and centre, with Seiros standing beside him. She looked at peace, and Byleth truly found that he was able to believe that Seiros and Rhea might indeed be the same person. 

A hush fell over the ballroom as the revellers realised that the emperor wished to speak.

“My people.” His voice was soft and even but from his position it carried easily all through the ballroom even to where Cichol and Byleth stood by the far wall. “Lords, Ladies, soldiers and honoured guests. I sincerely thank you all for attending tonight on this momentous day. Today, we are free of a darkening shadow which has darkened Fodlan for many years. Long ago, my father started this war, leading our Empire in the fight against the tyrant Nemesis, and thanks to the efforts of you, my people, and of Seiros and the Nabateans. We have put an end to Nemesis!” 

A cheer rose through the crowd. some of the more drunk and less composed partygoers shouting their approval to the rooftop. Lycaon stood calmly and waited for the cheering to die down slowly.

“Yes, we have much to be proud of, and much to celebrate.” He said as the room quieted. “But even with this momentous victory, we must remember that this is not the end. The coming month, and years, may be trying. Many remnants of Nemesis’ forces remain, and they will fight bitterly to avenge their fallen king. We will need to plough new fields, pave new roads, repair broken homes and cities. But, as we proved today, when the men and women of the Adrestian Empire rise as one, there is no challenge too great, no foe too powerful and no goal too lofty.” He held his glass of champagne high in the air, and the golden liquid sparkled in the magical lights of the great chandeliers hanging overhead. “Today we are victorious!” 

“Adrestia!” came the booming answer, rising from hundreds of voices as the people joined their emperor in a toast. 

Byleth held his glass up high and met the Emperor’s gaze from across the ballroom. There was a light in Lycaon’s eyes, a hope he hadn’t seen since he came back in time. The hope for a brighter future.


	2. Five Times Byleth Was Asleep and One He Wasn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst Byleth sleeps for seven years each of the Saints approach him in their own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi, I done made another chapter, hope you guys like it, thanks to my buddy buddy chum pal Kaorumi for beta reading this chapter (if you haven't checked out their twin Byleth fic 'The Loudest Silence' you should do so. It's good.)

Imperial Year 100

Macuil knocked sharply on Byleth’s door, tapping his foot as he waited for an answer. 

“Ridiculous.” He muttered after a few seconds. Ever since he’d returned from his travels a few months prior Byleth had taken to spacing out and losing focus on a disturbingly regular basis. 

Apparently his lack of focus had grown so pronounced he forgot even to answer his door. Macuil scoffed at the whole situation, being asked to fetch Byleth like he was a servant. If anyone but Cethleann had asked him, then he wouldn’t be here at all.

“Byleth, open this door.” He called, pounding firmly once more so that he was certain Byleth would hear. He listened for a moment but couldn’t hear the shuffling of feet to hint that Byleth might be moving. He couldn’t hear anything coming from the room at all.

“Well, being polite didn’t work.” He said to himself as he opened the door. Fortunately, Byleth hadn’t locked it. That was a somewhat odd occurance in Macuil’s experience. 

Entering Byleth’s spartan quarters he’d not expected the man to be present at all. He was simply hoping for some sign of where he might have run off to. Hopefully he hadn’t left on some impromptu journey for another far-flung Nabatean outpost. In the wake of Zanado’s destruction Macuil and the others had already searched them all for any survivors who might have fled. Each was a dead end.

Surprisingly, however, Byleth was present. He laid still on his bed on top of the covers. His boots were still on, as was his overcoat. 

Macuil rolled his eyes at the carelessness and stomped over to Byleth, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him harshly. “Wake up Byleth. My niece is complaining about you missing dinner, and I know you don’t want to disappoint her.”

Byleth didn’t stir. He didn’t even shift in his sleep. He just laid there limply. 

“Byleth.” Macuil called once more, voice tense as his grip tightened on Byleth. 

Still the other man didn’t move. 

Dread chilled Macuil. Byleth couldn’t be dead. It’d break Cethleann’s heart, goddess knows how Seiros would even react. He quickly shook himself out of his overreaction. There was no point leaping to conclusions. 

He released Byleth and looked him over, with some relief he noticed the slow rise and fall of Byleth’s chest. He was breathing. Good. He took hold of his wrist and felt the flow of blood, and the warmth of life. Sleeping, Byleth was just sleeping. 

A sleep he wouldn’t be stirred from.

He peeled back one of Byleth’s eyelids, revealing the bright green underneath. He conjured a small flame in his hand and waved it back and forth. Byleth’s eyes did not follow the motion, neither did his pupils even shrink slightly from the light exposure. He was totally unresponsive.

It hit Macuil all of a sudden and he burst into a laugh. “Oh, I really did forget just how young you are.” He got out between chuckles. The children of the goddess often had to sleep for years or even decades when they’d truly exhausted themselves. However, none but the extremely injured or the extremely young could not be woken. A sleep as deep as Byleth’s only occurred when the body needed to recover. Or grow. 

“I guess I’ll need to let Cethleann know you won’t be coming to dinner.” He said to Byleth’s peacefully sleeping face.

He received no response.

\--#--

Cichol was above all else practical. He had a mind for numbers and facts, and when faced with a daunting task he found it best to work at a steady, methodical pace. As such, he was quite proud to say he’d been placed in charge of most administrative and day to day matters of the construction of the monastery. 

That also included overseeing Byleth’s rest. 

It had been three weeks since the young man had taken to slumber, and he showed no sign of waking any time soon. Seiros asked Cichol and the others to keep the matter as quiet as possible. The war was not so far in the past that someone with a grudge against the Nabateans might not try to take revenge on Byleth during this vulnerable time. 

And so, it fell to Cichol to take care of the mundane matters of ensuring Byleth had a peaceful sleep. Which was somewhat more difficult than anticipated.

Cichol gently tugged on the bedsheet, untucking it from where it was held snugly beneath the mattress. As he freed the sheet Cichol glanced over to Byleth and saw his chest continue to rise and fall gently in his sleep. The sheets were becoming musty and in sore need of changing.

“Okay, this should be simple enough.” Cichol murmured to himself as he took hold of the bedsheet.

He began to pull it out from underneath Byleth, however, as he did so, he noticed Byleth shifting with the sheets. Cichol put a hand to his shoulder to keep him on the bed whilst he tugged on the bedding. As he did so Byleth mumbled in his sleep and swatted at Cichol’s hand.

Cichol froze. Byleth had always been perfectly still in the past during his sleep, not so much as twitching a muscle. Perhaps Cichol had disturbed him through physical contact. He did not wish to wake Byleth prematurely. If he’d fallen into such a sleep then his body desperately needed it. Small wonder he was worn out with all his gallivanting about and trying to channel Sothis’ power so much.

“Perhaps a different approach.” Cichol muttered stepping back and taking in a whole view of where Byleth lay on the mattress. He just needed to get the under sheet out from beneath him. A memory sprung to mind of a trick his wife had once shown him. She’d taken hold of the tablecloth one night at dinner and ripped it from the table so swiftly that not one glass of water or plate of food had tipped or spilled.

He smiled softly remember how a young Cethleann had clapped and laughed joyously at the sight.

Cichol squared his shoulder, gripped the bedsheet tightly, and pulled as fast as he could.

Byleth fell off the bed, bumping his head on the wooden frame on his way down.

Cichol froze and stared down at Byleth, eyes wide and panicked, yet Byleth slept on peacefully. A minute passed, then two, as Cichol stood stock still with the bedsheet clutched tightly in a shaky grip. Eventually, he forced himself to move. He gingerly scooped up Byleth in his arms and took a look down at him.

His face looked relaxed as it always did in his sleep, but Cichol could make out a red mark across his forehead. He sincerely hoped it wouldn’t blossom into a bruise. 

Cichol quickly deposited Byleth back upon the bed and scuttled out of the room, clutching armfuls of bedsheets tightly. He vowed to himself to never be so cavalier in matters of laundry again. At least, he reasoned, there was only a small chance that anyone would notice. Byleth hardly received many visitors. 

\--#--

Seiros sat on Byleth’s bed, cradling his head in her lap as he slept. Slowly, carefully, she ran her fingers through his hair, humming softly. 

His fringe was growing longer, and as she pushed it back she noticed an ugly bruise on his forehead and sighed. It’d been over two years since Macuil found Byleth asleep, and every now and again she’d notice a scrape or a bruise somewhere on his body. 

“Did you have a distressing dream?” She whispered to her silent companion. She could only guess something caused him to lash out in his sleep and hurt himself. Would that she could be there all the time to help calm such distress.

She found whatever time she could to stay by Byleth’s bedside of late. It was hard to explain, but Seiros found that she could almost feel her mother’s presence clearly whilst he was asleep. Despite Byleth’s denial she had to hold out hope that there was some trace of Sothis still within him. It was a hope that she wouldn’t have imagined before his appearance, but since he came, it was one she found impossible to let go of.

“You slept too, did you not, Mother?” she said. Even before Sothis was murdered by Nemesis, Seiros hadn’t seen her awake in so long that she could scarcely remember the sound of her voice. The Agarthans had paid dearly for what they had done, but even so, it couldn’t awaken the goddess. Nothing but time could undo the damage they did.

“No one will hurt you this time. I’ll keep you safe.”

Byleth stirred in her grasp and her breath caught. His eyelids twitched as if he searched for something behind his closed eyes. 

“So…this.” He breathed slowly. 

“Sothis? Yes, yes. Where is she?” Seiros grasped Byleth’s arms tightly, and shook him in desperate hope. But even so, he remained silent and unresponsive. “ANSWER ME!” She cried, digging her nails in until a pinprick of blood came out of his arm. Seiros wilted as his breathing levelled out once more. 

A worm of guilt writhed in her as she let go of Byleth’s arms and stood, resting his head back down upon the pillow. She’d lost herself there. She couldn’t go and lash out like that. Byleth didn’t deserve that. Her mother didn’t either.

Seiros whispered a soft healing spell and tiny cuts on Byleth’s arms faded. She then stood and left the room with soft steps, closing the door quietly behind herself.

\--#--

“And then, uncle Macuil said his time would be better spent teaching a donkey.” Cethleann giggled. 

Her hands worked idly and with hardly a thought as she went through the repetitive motion of braiding Byleth’s hair. He’d been asleep for five years and his hair had grown long enough to fall below his shoulder blades were he to stand. 

“So, needless to say, uncle will not be taking that post in Enbarr.” She continued. Flayn blinked and looked down at her hands as they reached the end of Byleth’s hair. “I do worry for him though. He has been withdrawn more often lately. He sometimes spends days locked in his quarters.” 

She looked around Byleth’s neatly arranged room, although it was not truly his room. Seiros had him moved to the central keep of the monastery. It was still small and likely only a third of the way through its construction. But, until Byleth awakened, Seiros had directed construction efforts towards the cathedral and the great bridge. It worked better to keep him hidden. 

“I fear that we may be drifting, that it may have only been the war that kept us all together. I know I shall always have Father, but my Uncles hardly dine with us anymore, and Seiros is so often busy with the church and the empire.” Cethleann took an unsteady breath and released Byleth’s hair, clasping her hands together in her lap. “Nevertheless, I’ll be here when you wake up, and I know it is best to have some company. Father stayed by my side last time I had a long sleep, and I can remember his voice breaking through. So, I shall make sure that you stay updated on the events of the monastery.” She nodded resolutely. 

“Speaking of which I am most displeased with Father right now. So don’t tell him this is where I’ve come to hide.” She whispered, then laughed a little at her own joke. “Once again he took it upon himself to scare off my friends. I keep telling him that he is being paranoid. You’d think they were unwashed brigands with the way he carries on.” 

Cethleann continued to natter on aimlessly, pouring her frustrations out to her silent audience. She’d always thought Byleth to be a good listener, but she couldn’t help wishing for some response. Perhaps she’d be lucky and he truly would awaken during one of her visits. She squeezed his hand tightly and she swore she could feel it twitch in response. 

\--#--

Indech deftly twisted the knife in his hand, scraping it along the surface of his small sculpture. A light curl of wood was shaved off and fell into his lap in its wake. He took the sculpture, a cat and turned it in his hand, appraising his work in the dim light. It was serviceable, he supposed, but the head was slightly too round and the legs a bit longer than he’d hoped. Still, it should please one of children hanging around the monastery as a gift. 

He placed it gently upon the floor, brushing the collected wood shavings on his lap into a small basket to dispose of later. He plucked another squat block of wood from the pile he’d brought and looked to the amber twilight streaming into Byleth’s room. He should have time to at least start another work before anyone came looking for him.

For close to the past seven years, Indech had taken to hiding away in Byleth’s room from time to time. From how he often found sheets askew or chairs moved about, he could guess he wasn’t the only one. He knew for certain that Cethleann visited from a few times when he’d almost walked in on her talking to Byleth whilst he slept. 

There was an unusual sense of peace in the room, and it made for a pleasant place for Indech to come and practice his handiworks. There’d always been a need for small repairs, sewing and the like during the war, but it was far more refreshing to be able to practice for his own enjoyment. He’d take carving toys and mending broken pots over sewing torn uniforms and fixing broken bows any day.

Byleth muttered something and squirmed in his bed, Indech looked towards him and watched as he gradually calmed into a peaceful sleep once more. That’d been happening more often lately. Years ago Byleth would stay perfectly still without so much as a twitch for days on end. But in the past year his twitches and murmurings were becoming more and more common. Rarely would an hour go past without some sign of movement. Indech wondered if Byleth was normally a restless sleeper, or if the years of inactivity were chafing even his unaware mind. 

Time had certainly been wearing on Indech. He found himself getting distracted more and more, and it was more than just rustiness that caused his work to go off model frequently. Gouges in wood and tears in fabric were happening more and more lately. 

Before the war he’d never had such issues. His life in Zanado was peaceful and quiet, no need for combat or outlets for aggression. He’d spent the past years trying to go back to that kind of life, but there always felt like there was an itch that was left unscratched within himself. A peaceful and quiet life seemed hollow, and the lustre of simple pursuits was fading as each year passed. 

He felt a sharp sting in his thumb and looked down. He’d slipped and jabbed himself with his whittling knife. There was a throbbing ache from the cut as blood began to well forth. There was something unusual about it, but Indech’s mind felt like it was in a fog and he couldn’t quite place it.

He shook his head and stood to pack up his gear. He doubted he’d achieve anything with his carving feeling the way he was. As he put the block he’d been working on away and frowned as he noticed the green stain upon the wood. 

He hoped it didn’t run too deep, it’d be a waste to have to throw it away.

\--#--

Byleth wrestled his eyes open with an effort. The crustiness of sleep still laid heavy upon them. His whole body felt heavy as he heaved himself into a sitting position in his bed. 

Even his head felt heavy and he ran his hand through his hair as he looked around the room. Everything seemed to be in place, but the walls looked off. He could have sworn they were wooden. 

He wondered if he’d mistakenly wandered into someone else’s room for his nap. Exhausted as he had been feeling he supposed that it was possible. Normally he’d be more careful than that.

A long yawn forced its way through his mouth, causing him to shiver with the strength of it. With some effort, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up shakily. He swayed as he stood. He nearly lost balance and had to place a hand on the bed to steady himself. 

His attention was drawn to the window and he could have groaned aloud. The sun was setting, with the last dull rays of its light barely lighting the room at all. He’d meant to lie down for an hour or two and yet it seemed that he’d slept the whole afternoon away. He was sure he’d get an earful from Cichol. He’d promised to help move some timbers for the frame of the dormitories. 

There was nothing to be done though. With wobbly steps he made his way out of the room and into the coming evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was my first time writing a 5+1 format fic, I thought it'd be something interesting to have a try with, and it let me get a little into the minds of six different characters, so that was fun. Thanks for reading, I'm always happy to recieve feedback or comments.


	3. Who We Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth takes a walk in the desert and reconnects with some old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, I wrote more for this fic. Like I did say, this one is more sporadic in updating. I add more as I get inspiration and ideas, so I had this one and it helps advance the overall plot of the AU nicely, so I hope everyone enjoys. Comments are always welcome if there's anything you want to ask or discuss.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.

Byleth kept his head down, focused on the plodding of his own feet, one after the other. It was late in the day and the sun had dipped low to the horizon, yet even so the heat of the desert burned up through the soles of his shoes. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, moving the damp curtain away from his face. 

Sreng was far too hot. 

He could vaguely remember travelling through a desert with Jeralt when he was a kid, but that was close to a hundred and thirty years ago. His memory became foggy that far back. His whole head felt foggy right now though.

The world tipped alarmingly and Byleth blacked out for a moment, finding himself lying on the ground a few seconds later. He gave a raspy sigh. His whole throat felt dry and coarse as the sand he laid on. His water had run out two days ago. A drop of sweat rolled into his eye and he blinked it away.

_I’m surprised I have enough water left in me to sweat._

He forced his hands beneath himself and tried to rise. He managed to get up onto his hands and knees, but couldn’t muster strength enough to get to his feet. 

There had to be a soak somewhere nearby, or a dry riverbed. Somewhere to dig for some water. A distant part of himself was panicking as he crawled onwards, but that part was quiet and far away. It was like he was watching himself struggle on through the desert. 

At some point, the air grew cold and he could barely see the ground below himself. The sweat on his clothes and in his hair felt like ice and Byleth began to shiver. Teeth chattering and body shuddering, his arms gave out and he fell to the ground. He couldn’t push himself up again. 

The far-off, panicking part of his brain was screaming at him, but he could barely make it out at this point. It was like hearing Sothis. A voice barely on the outskirts of his mind, clamouring and bossy. Byleth giggled at the thought, but it came out as a dry cough and he accidentally snorted some sand up his nose. 

_I miss Sothis._

With the last vestiges of his strength he managed to shove at the ground and roll over onto his back. He stared up at the inky night sky, covered in millions of indifferent, twinkling stars. He stared long and hard at one light in particular. It was a soft blue, one that felt comforting. The other stars didn’t care if he were to live or die, but that one would cry. Their favourite star. 

Home. 

The stars disappeared and there was a rush of air over Byleth’s face. The ground shuddered as a great shadow landed over him. He let out a weak sigh. 

_Why can’t we just be left alone for a moment?_

“How did you get yourself in such a state?” The shadow asked. Its voice rumbled like a rolling storm. 

“Leave me alone. I want to look at the stars,” Byleth tried to say, but it came out as a wheeze instead. He settled for shooting a dirty look at the interrupting shadow. 

“Seiros would never let me hear the end of it if you die here. So, as nice as lying on the ground is, I’m taking you somewhere safe.” 

Something scooped Byleth up and there was a rush of air, his achingly empty stomach dropped, and he groaned weakly in protest. Byleth could barely keep his eyes open as the wind ripped at his body. He closed his eyes with a whine and soon drifted off as his thoughts left, one by one. 

\--#--

Byleth drifted in and out of awareness for what felt like days. He was somewhere reasonable sheltered and cool, and every so often he felt a trickle of water being poured down his throat. Gradually, his thoughts returned and some strength was restored to his limbs as the worst effects of his dehydration were gradually healed. 

During one of his longer bouts of wakefulness, Byleth managed to push himself into a seated position. His eyes were heavy, his limbs were like lead weights and his head still felt fuzzy but he was able to collect himself well enough to think clearly. A flash of memory came back to him, lying on his back and accepting death, staring up at the stars. Someone had come for him.

 _And where have they brought me?_

He looked around, finding himself in a reasonably cool and bare cave. The space was enormous, large enough to fit a stable full of horses. It was cool and shaded though. At the far end of the cave a good hundred paces away, some light shone in. But by how dim it was Byleth guessed he was far underground. The ground he was sat upon felt soft, glancing down he realised he had been placed upon a bed of animal pelts and scraps of fabric. 

There was a booming thump and then a scraping sound that came from the entrance of the cave. Byleth swung his head up quickly, just in time to see an enormous beast entering the cave. It looked almost like an eagle walking upon four legs, but a thousand times larger. Its large, horned head swung down to avoid banging on the ceiling as its taloned feet carried it into the cave. As soon as it entered, its surprisingly intelligent, golden eyes locked on Byleth. 

Byleth frantically looked about for his sword, but couldn’t spy it anywhere near himself. His rescuer must have placed it elsewhere. He tried to focus magical energy to call up some flames or even the draining light of a nosferatu spell, but such strength eluded him. The beast drew close and on instinct he tried to scramble to his feet. If he couldn’t fight then he’d have to flee. 

“Oh, cut that out, would you? If I was going to eat you, Byleth, I would have done so already,” the enormous creature drawled. 

There was a familiar note of derision in the voice that made Byleth pause.

“Macuil?” 

“Of course, who were you expecting? The King of Almyra?” Macuil chortled to himself.

The tension drained from Byleth and he lowered himself back to his impromptu bed. Macuil’s gaze relaxed just a little as Byleth settled down once more. 

“So, this is where you ran to after leaving.” Byleth said plainly.

“Ran to? What a presumption. I simply decided to take some time to myself. Dealing with humans for the past few centuries has gotten tiring,” Macuil grumbled. He stalked forward to bring himself close to Byleth and lowered to the ground, stretching out his enormous limbs as he reclined. 

“Cethleann was devastated for months. You didn’t even say goodbye,” Byleth pointed out and Macuil actually flinched at that. 

“I admit, I could have been more… considerate towards my niece, but she doesn’t understand the way that the years weigh upon you,” He rumbled, then continued more quietly. “hopefully she never will.” 

“So, that’s why you left? You were tired?” Byleth huffed. 

“Tired and restless. You know the feeling yourself, I daresay.” Macuil’s golden gaze pinned Byleth down. “Elsewise you wouldn’t have travelled so far from Cethleann and the others yourself.” 

“I thought…. Seiros mentioned that Sothis explored the territories near Sreng. I hoped to find something of value,” Byleth excused. He crossed his arms and lowered his eyes. He didn’t have it in himself to meet Macuil’s piercing stare. 

“Ah, still hung up on your deer, then? Hah! Well, if you’re that desperate to travel, I could teach you to assume your true form. Judging by how much you’ve changed I’d say you’re ready.” There was a hint of hopefulness in Macuil’s voice and when Byleth looked up, he thought he could see traces of genuine interest on his birdlike face. 

“True form?” 

“Like my own.” Macuil craned his long neck to gesture towards himself. “We Nabateans are not meant to hide purely in the weak skin of humanity. If you hadn’t have done so, you wouldn’t have nearly died in the desert. Who knows, taking on such a form might re-awaken some element of Sothis as well.”

Byleth’s breath caught for a moment at the reminder of his brush with death. There was a tempting angle to the offer, but judging by Macuil, it might be hard to change back after assuming such a beastly form. 

_I can’t go back to the Golden Deer looking like that._

Byleth gave a minute shake of his head and Macuil sighed, easily taking his meaning. “Very well. I won’t waste any more words trying to convince you of the obvious. You’d best just focus on recovering so you can return to the monastery, or wherever you all have decided to take up residence.” 

“I still need to look into-“

“Sothis left nothing here,” Macuil snapped, “Anything that might have remained would be long buried under a mountain of sand by now.” 

Byleth closed his mouth, deciding it was unwise to prod Macuil anymore. There was an edge of threat to his voice that wasn’t there before. He wouldn’t have thought Macuil would actually hurt him, but who can say how living as a giant bird lizard in a desert would change a person. 

\--#--

Over the coming days, Byleth focused on recovering his strength. There was a spring at the back of the cave from which clear, fresh water sprang, and Macuil frequently brought back carcasses of dead creatures for Byleth to dress and cook. In about a week, he felt steady enough on his feet to pack up and return to Garreg Mach. 

During his time in the cave though, something Macuil said stuck in his mind. Transforming may awaken some element of Sothis. Now more than ever, Byleth needed her counsel. If anyone would know of a way to travel through time again, it would be her. She wasn’t fully gone, he was certain of that much. Sometimes, when he slept he could hear her speaking, but the exact memory of her words fled when he awoke. It left him frustrated. If this might connect him to her again, then perhaps it would be worth a try. 

“Macuil, I need to ask you something,” Byleth approached Macuil as he returned to the cave with the setting of the sun. 

The saint opened his beak to shoot out a snarky response, but clacked it shut again as he took in Byleth’s hesitant stance,“Go on.” 

“I thought about what you said, and if it has a chance of helping me connect more with Sothis…” he gave a low, slow sigh, “I’d like to try and take on my other form. If I can.” 

Macuil was silent but then his face changed. It took Byleth a moment to figure it out with the beak, but Macuil grinned, “Oh, this should be something.” He looked over his shoulder towards the fading light of day, “Come, we’d best go outside, the first few stars will be out soon and Sothis always found it easiest to transform at night.”

Byleth wanted to ask how Macuil knew that, but he supposed that all of the Saints likely had some familiarity with Sothis, except perhaps Cethleann. Before he could speak up, Macuil turned and stomped out of the cave, leaving Byleth to trail behind.

As Macuil said, the last rays of sunlight were slowly disappearing as evening fell. The air was still warmf but in the next half hour Byleth knew it’d become frigid once more. Macuil led Byleth across the sand so that he was a few dozen paces away from the cave. The saint then turned and stared at Byleth expectantly.

“What?” Byleth asked, spreading his hands wide. 

“Are you… going to transform?” Macuil replied slowly. 

“I don’t know how. I assumed you’d show me,” Byleth explained in the same confused tone.

“Oh, OH! I thought you’d know,” Macuil snorted. He brought one long-taloned finger up to scratch at his chin and muttered, “It should be instinctual.” 

“It isn’t,” Byleth said, wilting at Macuil’s comment. 

“No instinct, then you’ll need a bit of a… jump start I suppose.” Macuil’s clawed hand glowed with a searing green light, “Now, I need you to just hold still.” He brought his claw towards Byleth’s face. It was a test for Byleth to keep his feet firmly planted as a part of him shrank away from the glowing talon. 

_It’s for Sothis. It’s for Claude. It’s for Lysithea and Lorenz, Leonie, Marriane and Ignatz. Raphael, Hilda and Flayn._

The claw tapped against his forehead and Byleth felt all his limbs spasm like he’d been struck with a thoron spell. 

_The flight was long. She’d drifted for what felt like aeons in the cold darkness. Time had little meaning in the void. The ground was welcome beneath her feet. Even when the rough stones scratched at her scales, Sothis couldn’t help but smile. She looked out over the mountains she’d landed in. Perhaps here she could build a new home._

Byleth gasped as his bones stretched and his limbs thickened. New appendages burst from his sides but he hardly noticed, gripped in a haze of memories.

 _There was a simple pleasure in watching something grow. Like a seed sprouting into a sapling and eventually a mighty tree, she watched Xanado build up from the dirt. Watched the flow of time birth something new from her efforts and the stones placed by those born from her blood. Some humans had called them ‘Children of the Goddess’, a grandiose term, but supervising so many, Sothis did sometimes feel like an overworked mother. She laughed at the thought._

He collapsed forward, writhing on the sand, struggling to stand on six legs, whilst four translucent wings fluttered fitfully along his back. His body was strong, but unsure. Shaking as he was, he could do little but lie there, shuddering as the sand scratched against his fine, vivid green scales.

_The Agarthans were a concern, one that was often playing in the back of Sothis’ mind. In the past few decades, they’d grown resentful. They thought she was hiding some secret technology from them, demanded that she share her power. Some of her people had gone missing, and she had a dreadful suspicion as to where they may have gone. There was a light in the sky. At first, Sothis thought it was a shooting star, but the glow was different. It looked more like a flaming ballista shot, one heading straight for them!_

Byleth shuddered for breath as his surroundings gradually became clear. Thick antennae flicked back and forth, feeding into a strange new sense that illuminated his surrounds. He could sense Macuil was close, hesitant as he reached out. Every line of his body was tense, expecting Byleth to lash out. 

_The throne was cold and uncomfortable, but sleepy as Sothis was, it was difficult to shake off slumber. She wanted to walk along the mountaintops, to see the stars, to dance until her feet blistered and ached. But she couldn’t even stand up. Her wounds were deep and they would take centuries to heal. She had the time, but sitting idle had never been a fond pastime._

“Enough, it’s enough, it’s too much.” Byleth felt like he was merging with Sothis all over again. He was a cup filled to its brim and spilling over, drowing in her memories and experiences. In the river of experiences, he looked for his own, eventually latching onto something that stood out, a rock in the surging tide.

_“Alright kid, you gotta hold it steady. Your grip’s a little twisted.” Jeralt rearranged Byleth’s hands on the sword hilt. The sword was heavy, but Byleth didn’t complain. He’d never felt the need to complain about much before._

_“Okay so if you hold it like that, they you’ve gotta keep your stance wider. if you put too much force into a swing with a bad stance, you’ll just knock yourself over,” Jeralt explained and Byleth shifted his feet in turn._

_“Now, take a swing.” Jeralt pointed Byleth towards the training dummy. He pulled his arms back and smashed his training sword hard into the dummy’s side. It made a ‘whumph’ sound against the padding._

_“Just like that kid,” Jeralt murmured and he tussled Byleth’s hair. Byleth looked up at Jeralt and his face felt funny,“Look at that, a smile just for me? We’ll make a good fighter out of you yet.”_

Byleth held tight to the memory of Jeralt, of his father. To remind himself of who he was, not who he used to be. He let out a long, slow exhale and felt some limbs shrink whilst others disappeared. He became smaller and, in a matter of seconds, he was himself again, lying face down in the sand. He rolled onto his back and stared at Macuil’s face peering down at him before the backdrop of the starry night sky. 

“You really do look just like her.” Macuil whispered wistfully. 

Byleth nodded softly, staring at the blue star once more. Sothis was still with him, still a part of his being. But perhaps for now, it would be best to stop chasing after her memory.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, I'm always happy to receive comments and feedback, so don't be shy if you have anything to say.


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